Blue
by aria0205
Summary: PostPilot. In a daring move to wrest some respect from his new partner, Clark bets Lois that he can get to the bottom of the mysterious disappearance of Lex Luthor's wife, setting off a chain of events with near fatal consequences.
1. Chapter 1

* * *

Title: Blue 

Author: alcyone

Rating: T/PG-13 for mild violence and distubing themes. Nothing too overt, but definitely not for the squeamish.

Note: This was a Halloween horror-fic submission that went out last year on the LnC boards, that was inspired by the fairy tale Bluebeard with an extended ending that devotes more attention to our favorite couple. Takes place a few weeks after the Pilot. Thanks go out to my wonderful and patient beta Sue, one of the most talented fic writers in her own right! Check her out at the main LnC archive and Annesplace.

* * *

I. 

"Today marks the second day Margaret Clare Luthor has been missing," the news blared on the Daily Planet newsroom monitors. "Her husband, business mogul Lex Luthor, reported her missing after she failed to show up at a speaking engagement." The screens momentarily showed the picture of a beautiful redhead wearing a sundress.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell us about Margaret, Mr. Luthor?" The millionaire's handsome face appeared on the screen.

"There is a reward," he spoke in measured tones to the camera, "to anyone with information on her whereabouts. Please, if you have seen Margaret or know where she might be please, I beg you, contact us."

Clark shook his head in sympathy to the scene on the monitors.

Several feet away, Lois Lane looked at her new partner with barely concealed disgust.

"Don't tell me you buy this, Clark," she said over a mouthful of a chocolate-coated doughnut. "I thought you weren't Luthor's biggest fan."

He looked away from the television monitor, his expression still radiating pity. "I'm not, but no one deserves to go through something like that."

Lois swallowed and threw the empty box away. "Please. Five years ago, his long time girl friend Stacey Cesaire went on a flight to Palm Beach for the weekend. Never got on the flight. Two years ago girl friend number two Amy Brenton went to visit her parents over at the Hamptons—take a wild guess."

"Disappeared."

"Very sharp, farmboy. The media called Luthor 'Bluebeard' for a time. I'm surprised they haven't started yet."

"Bluebeard? Like the fairy tale?"

"Exactly. You're just a treasure trove of wonders, aren't you?"

He ignored her sarcasm. "But there must have been investigations; it's too much of a coincidence--"

"Of course!" Lois threw her arms up in exasperation. "They were all rich girls from blue blood backgrounds, Luthor was the first one the police went after. Still, for some reason no one's proven it."

"Why don't we look into it?"

Lois looked at him as if he'd suggested she wear a tutu and tap dance during lunch break.

"Didn't you listen to me? No one has ever proven this, there is no reason to think that we wouldn't be doing anything but wasting our time."

"So you're saying that you're like everyone else?"

"What are you talking about?"

"No one else can do it and you can't either."

"I didn't say that," she snapped.

He smirked. "No, but you implied it."

She stared at him for a moment. "You really think that you can goad me into this that easily?"

"Is it working?"

"I'm not going to go on a wild goose chase to prove something to you, rookie."

"Then you're implying you can't find a story here. I have to admit, Lois," he went to sit down at his desk casually and leaned back on the chair. "I never pegged you for a quitter."

"I am not a quitter," she said between gritted teeth.

"Then prove it."

"You know what? I, at least, don't have time for this. I'm working on a real story. Now if you want to jump into a dead end story like an overexcited puppy, go for it. I can handle this one by myself. Just don't come crying to me when your name's not on the byline."

"And if I get the story?"

"You won't."

"But what if I do?"

Lois rolled her eyes. "That's like saying 'if I win the lottery'."

"You haven't answered my question."

"You want to bet, is that it?" She looked at him incredulously. Then she smiled. "What are the stakes?"

"You'll know after I win."

This time Lois laughed out loud, a grating arrogant laugh that never failed to raise his hackles.

"I guess I'll just die curious then."

* * *

Clark looked at the piles of papers on his desk. The information on Luthor and the missing three women seemed impossible to go through. Momentarily overwhelmed, he regretted that his mouth had gotten the better of him as far as Lois was concerned. He had already seen her arch a smug, perfectly shaped eyebrow the last two times Jimmy had come by to add more files. 

He was just so tired of being dismissed; she treated him more like an errand boy than a partner. After the initial rush of excitement for his new job had passed, her behavior started getting on his nerves more and more with each passing day. He hadn't even figured out the stakes, it would just be enough for her to just see him for his skills as a serious reporter for once.

All the same, he reflected looking at the mess of papers and files; this was not exactly the smartest way to go about being noticed.

He sighed and tentatively reached for the file on Luthor. Looking at his face on the television screen, Clark had found it difficult to believe that he had something to do with Margaret's disappearance. Was the man cold and calculating? Definitely. Was he arrogant to the point of being intolerable? Certainly. But to connect him to Margaret's disappearance just seemed wrong somehow. If he had something to do with the disappearance, it would follow that he'd also be responsible for the two other women. No one could run from the law for that long--not even him. Clark sat back and began to read.

Several hours later, he put Luthor's file aside. Nothing there seemed to help; he had alibis and seemed to have no motive for it. He picked up the file on Margaret.

Lois passed by and stopped in front of his desk.

"What is it?" he asked without looking up. "I'm kind of busy here."

"You weren't so busy when you were goading me earlier."

"Are you here to gloat?" He asked idly, still not looking up.

"No," she said gingerly fingering some of the files in one of the stacks. "Just to comment—"

Clark dropped the file he was reading on his desk in exasperation and looked up at her.

"Comment on what?"

In a voice clearly imitating that of Cat she blurted out, "My, Clark, your stacks are so big."

"Very professional," he looked away trying to keep his expression serious.

"You can't be the only one in this office entitled to blurt out suggestive comments. I seem to remember some quip about me liking it on--"

"I was quoting you," he said pointedly, feigning innocence. Before she could answer he continued, "Are you done, I said I was busy." He gestured to his desk.

Lois continued milking the moment, unfazed. Her lips curled into a superior smile.

"I'll give you a hint, rookie, the best investigating is done away from the desk." With that she whirled and walked away leaving Clark to stare behind her and shake his head. He either wanted to kiss her or kill her, and most of the time he wasn't sure which.

* * *

Of course, Lois could only have been that smug for one reason and one reason alone. Or rather two reasons, one of which she had every right to feel self-congratulatory for. She had finished the story Perry had assigned her and Clark in record time, considering she had worked on it alone. True, there had been more spelling mistakes than usual, but those were simply some of the drawbacks of working alone. Besides, those copy editors needed to do something around here. 

Reason two however, was a bit problematic.

About ten minutes after turning in her story, Lois Lane from the Daily Planet had called the Clare Interior Designs office and insisted on speaking to Teresa Clare, Margaret's older sister and only living relative.

She walked out of the Daily Planet and told herself that she had done her job by approaching Clark. And besides anyone ridiculous enough to disregard her advice and attempt to prove her wrong had it coming to them. Lois approached the curb and hailed a cab. Teresa had been accommodating enough to attend her that day; it was just a matter of getting to her office.

Her conscience pricked her again as she climbed into a cab that just pulled up. She pushed the discomfort aside, Lois was simply teaching Clark a lesson, as was her responsibility. She was senior partner after all.

And besides, there was no way in hell she was losing that damn bet.

* * *

Twenty minutes later Lois sat in the reception. Once she had walked in and identified herself the secretary had simply nodded and told her that she'd be escorted in as soon as Teresa was done with the person she was seeing. 

The door opened and a well-dressed man with a business suit walked out. Lois recognized him as one of the reporters from the Metropolis Star, but that was all she could do before the tall redhead approached her.

"You must be Lois Lane," she said in a somber tone.

The resemblance to Margaret was unmistakable and yet, Teresa seemed to have harder features and she looked a lot older than what Lois had expected.

Then again, she had just lost her sister, Lois reminded herself.

"Yes, hi. I'm glad you could fit me."

The woman nodded. "I'm just hoping you can help." She gestured to the office.

Lois followed her.

Teresa gestured towards the chair in front of her desk. "Please sit down."

Lois sat down, pen and notepad ready. "So, I'm sure you know about Lex Luthor's…history."

"You mean the two other women he'd been with who have also disappeared," Teresa said sharply. "Yes I know."

"Do you think he may have had something to do with it?"

"I don't know what to think," Teresa's eyes filled up with tears. "All I kept thinking was that originally Luthor had wanted to see me."

Lois eyes widened. "What do you mean? Romantically?"

Teresa nodded. "I guess it wasn't—" She looked down and opened a drawer pulling out a handkerchief. "I'm sorry—"

"No-no," Lois rushed to say. "If you don't feel comf—"

Teresa wiped her tears away. "No I have to. I owe this to Margaret. We…we lost our parents when we were young. She was all I had."

Lois looked at her hesitantly before saying, "Okay well, why don't you tell me about Luthor…"

"He travels--constantly. Margaret complained that they--never spent any time together."

Lois nodded before continuing gently, "Had she ever mentioned if he hurt her?"

Teresa shook her head. "Not that I knew of, but I don't know. We drifted apart after…after the marriage."

"What do you mean?"

She met her eyes squarely. "I didn't want her to marry him, I knew of his other women. I didn't want that for Margaret. We had a big fight about it and it just wasn't the same any more."

"What have the police found?"

"Nothing, I told them the same thing I told you. They don't believe me. He's got so many lawyers under his thumb they can't even get a warrant to search his penthouse."

"Do you think there might be something there? I'm sure they have searched his place before."

Teresa leaned forward. "Margaret mentioned something to me a while ago. Something about Luthor never letting her go into the storage—I didn't think much of it at the time, but these days--" her eyes watered again.

"I can't think of anything else," she whispered, her eyes glazing oddly. "I have nightmares. Margaret and the other women—they call to me."

Lois blinked, all of sudden feeling mildly disturbed by the other woman's intensity.

Then Teresa blinked and looked away. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to get like this. Margaret was the only family member I had left and she's gone. I just want that monster to be held accountable."

"I'll do my best," Lois said. "I'm sure with media attention the police will find themselves forced to be more circumspect about this."

"I hope so," Teresa said, her expression forlorn. "Our parents left Margaret and I the means to be financially independent, we're more than fortunate—but all of that means nothing next to that monster's assets. I'm afraid I'm skeptical that anything can get done."

"I don't believe that--don't give up yet."

Teresa looked at her with gratitude. "Thank you, Ms. Lane. Sometimes I forget how important my outlook is. I owe it to Margaret to have faith."

* * *

Amazing what a little threat can do. 

Clark called the Lex Corp. offices in the morning and insinuated quite pointedly that if Luthor refused an interview with him, he'd find himself with a highly speculative article the next day. Once the words were out of his mouth though, Clark felt instantly sheepish. He was in no position to make good on a threat like that, Perry would never have something like that tainting his paper, all the more so out of fear of incurring the wrath of Luthor's many lawyers.

But the assistant hadn't called his bluff; instead she had simply scheduled an interview at Luthor's penthouse. That sounded odd to Clark, but when he had asked, the assistant's tone was flippant. Luthor was taking care of some personal business, she said. He'd be traveling tomorrow so it would be best if Clark met him in his apartment that night, it wouldn't be the first or last time he arranged meeting in his apartment.

And so, Clark found himself standing outside of the massive skyscraper that housed Luthor's penthouse, astounded that his luck hadn't run out yet.

He walked into the building and identified himself, making his way into the elevator all the while running over what he was going to ask. He was so distracted by his thoughts that the sound of the doors opening momentarily jarred him.

Luthor was waiting for him leaning slightly against the door to the penthouse, his suit immaculate as always.

"Mr. Kent. You're early."

"I appreciate you meeting with me," Clark said quickly. "Although I have to admit the hours seem a bit odd."

"I'm a business man, Mr. Kent, my presence is required more than I'd like at times."

"That must have put a strain on your marriage," Clark said brusquely.

Luthor's expression didn't change. "Margaret knew what my life was like before we married." He gestured to the door. "Please."

Clark followed the man to a huge living room with huge windows that looked out to the city. To his left was a doorway.

Luthor noticed his glance. "That leads to the kitchen."

"The view is impressive," Clark said.

Luthor looked out. "I suppose so. I'm afraid I don't have much time to enjoy it. Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Kent. I trust you want any information I may have on Margaret's disappearance?"

Clark nodded.

"I have nothing to do with it, if that's what you're wondering."

"I didn't say you did, Mr. Luthor."

"Your expression says it all, Mr. Kent, and so did that flimsy threat you uttered to my assistant. Usually we ignore threats—"

"But?"

Luthor gave him a tight smile. "I appreciate the courage it takes for a man in your position to do something like that, I understand you're a new arrival from…Smallville is it? Would you like a drink?"

"Borneo," Clark concealed his surprise, feeling faintly uneasy. Of course someone like Luthor would check his background. "No, thank you."

Luthor left the room briefly and Clark looked around the living room. Everything seemed too ordered to be lived in. The pillows on the couch evenly placed and there was a stack of home magazines on the end table, Clark looked briefly through them.

"They were Margaret's," Luthor's voice spoke beside him and he jumped in spite of himself.

Luthor laughed. "Don't be so nervous, Mr. Kent. I got you a drink anyway—I will be very offended if you don't join me."

Finding himself without a choice, Clark took the offered drink, thankful that nothing Luthor did could affect him.

"She was an interior designer," Clark said after taking a sip.

Luthor nodded. "The best."

"Is this her work?"

"Actually no, this is a rather old job her sister made about five years ago. Margaret was always after me to update it, so to speak."

"Oh? And why didn't you?"

"No need, Mr. Kent."

"I'll cut to the chase," Clark blurted out, placing the half full glass on the end table. "Why should the public believe you didn't have anything to do with Margaret's disappearance?"

"I trust you're familiar with the police reports," Luthor said.

"I am, but all the same they say little about the funny coincidence that she's the third to be missing in connection with you."

This time Luthor's face expressed frustration. "I have tried myself to look for an explanation."

"And?"

"And I've found nothing," Luthor said harshly. "So I suppose after all this my answer is that I don't care what the public believes. The public watches the news like they would a circus spectacle, they know nothing of what it's like to wait for her to come home or wait for the phone to ring. There is no end to this, Mr. Kent. There wasn't with Stacey or Amy and now there is none with Margaret."

The bitter ache in his tone rendered Clark speechless.

Luthor looked away and cleared his throat. "I'm afraid that's all the time I have, Mr. Kent. Do you have any more questions?"

Clark shook his head, having forgotten all of the ones he meant to ask. Luthor moved back towards the door gesturing for Clark to leave.

Clark thanked him and walked out the door. He pressed the button for the elevator, feeling the weight of Luthor's stare at his back. The doors opened and he ducked in and leaned back in relief after they closed.

As the elevator descended a thought occurred to him and he pressed the button for the fifth floor.

The police hadn't been able to get a warrant; he'd be a fool to waste the opportunity to look around. The doors opened and he walked out. Clark waited until it continued its descent. Then casting furtive glances around him, he opened the doors and flew in the shaft. Once he came to the penthouse's floor he hesitated. Impulsively, he flew a bit further to the floor above it, knowing that the penthouse had two floors.

It wasn't at all difficult for Clark to pry the doors open and he found himself facing a long and dimly lit corridor. He supposed, the four doors led to bedrooms and walked several feet to where the stairs were. Where was Luthor? He stopped and listened for a minute. He heard door of the penthouse close and the turn of the lock. Clark strained a fraction and caught the sound of Luthor pressing the elevator button.

Luthor was leaving.

Good.

He waited until he heard the 'ding' of the elevator doors opening before turning back towards the corridor. He opened the first door, the room was completely dark and he instinctively groped for the light switch on the wall. Once the lights were on he realized he had walked into a medium sized room with a four post bed, as immaculate as the living room had been, if a bit more simple than what he would have expected. Clark opened the drawers on the bureau in front of the bed and found them empty. He supposed this was a guestroom of some sort.

He walked out and closed the door walking towards the door opposite it. It was locked. He tried the knob again and shrugged to himself, looking through the wall. It seemed to be a study. Finding nothing strange there, he moved towards the room beside the guestroom.

Clark opened the door and walked in. The room seemed huge, Clark had no doubts this was the master bedroom. In contrast to the orderly appearance of the living room and guestroom, the master bedroom definitely looked lived-in. The bed was unmade, an open suitcase lay atop it and clothing was scattered all over the floor. The door to an adjoining bathroom was open, providing the only shadowy illumination in the room. He went into the bathroom, once again seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

Thinking that there was nothing more to see there, he left the room, there was one last door left and he opened it and walked in, finding himself once more in darkness. A mildly metallic smell hit his nose and he grimaced, but gave it no thought while he felt the wall for the light switch. This time however, he couldn't find it and a vague uneasiness began to settle in his stomach. He went back towards the door and opened it all the way hoping some of the light from the dim corridor could filter into the room. He turned back once again moving along the wall in search of a light switch.

The door gently swung closed, the click almost explosive in the silence.

He looked around unable to make anything more than still shapes in the room.

There was someone in here, he could hear a heartbeat.

The uneasiness changed to a straining anxiety and he took a breath, attempting to ignore the smell.

Come on, he told himself, you're Superman. Nothing can harm you.

"Hello," he called out tentatively. "Is someone there?"

A shape off to the side caught his attention, it looked like a lamp and he walked to it with relief and felt for its switch. Please work, he implored silently.

It did, but by the looks of it the bulb was in its last, flickering and emitting the weakest light. It was something though, Clark thought to himself. He moved away to survey the room, half of which seemed to still be in shadows. Although not as large as the master bedroom, it was certainly much larger than the guestroom.

All the easier for someone to hide in, the thought flashed through his mind, sending shivers down his spine.

Nothing can harm you, he told himself.

"I know you're there," he called out.

No response.

There were boxes scattered about, which made any search around the room difficult. He took a look inside the nearest one and found various photo albums. Clark had little interest in going through them at the moment and moved towards the furthest part of the room, which was all but concealed by the monstrous shadows.

"Hello?"

He covered his nose, the putrid smell was stronger in this side of the room, and also…he took several experimental steps. The floor was oddly sticky. It was too dark to make out what was on the floor and he simply looked up straight ahead. He wasn't sure but there seemed to be a human figure sitting on one of the boxes off to the side and he took quick steps to approach it, wondering why it was sitting so still.

Too still.

"Hello?"

He was several feet in front of it now, off to a corner where the lamp's faint light couldn't reach and yet, the figure didn't react. Clark reached out to tap it on the shoulder and it fell. Reflexively he reached for it.

Cold skin.

Too cold.

With a wordless shout, he let go and took a quick step back. The figure fell, landing on the ground with a fleshy thump, something rolling away from it and Clark was frozen in horror.

Even in the darkness he could tell it was too short.

Too short.

And the smell and…

He looked to the side, and saw an unfamiliar figure. It reached for him with small feminine hands.

That's when he started screaming.

* * *

Half an hour later, Clark was still shaking outside the building. Forensics had already left, but the area was still crawling with idle spectators. Lois sat beside him and patted his back comfortingly, if somewhat guiltily. 

Henderson approached them with a sympathetic look.

"What happened?"

Clark didn't even look up.

"We already gave our statements, Detective Henderson. Please," Lois said imploringly.

"Believe me, I don't want to make you go through this horrible experience, but I also need to know the story."

"Fine," Lois said sharply. "Clark was meeting with Luthor. He wandered out because he thought Luthor was acting suspiciously and he discovered a mutilated body in one of the rooms."

"Ms. Lane, could I hear it from Mr. Kent himself?"

"Can't you see he doesn't want to talk about it?" Lois said angrily.

Clark sighed and looked up. "It's okay, Lois. It was a room with boxes, it wasn't very well lit and I saw something off to the side. I didn't realize it at the time but that was…Margaret…or some of her."

"So that's it then. We have to wait for forensics, but if he had her body somewhere in there, it's only a matter of time before we find the rest."

Lois nodded and Henderson excused himself.

"I'm so sorry," Lois said after he had left.

Clark looked at her dully. "For what?"

"For scaring you. I didn't know it was you until--"

"You weren't the worst of it. I'm—I'm scared to close my eyes now. I can see…it, hear it…falling again and again."

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "I'm just glad you didn't see any of it."

Lois shook her head. "I wish you hadn't."

"But you were right, and I was an idiot for not believing you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Luthor. I did give him the benefit of the doubt. I wish I hadn't, maybe then it wouldn't have caught me by surprise."

"You can't prepare for these sorts of things," Lois said gently.

Clark sighed.

Lois stood up and offered him a hand. "Come on, let's get you home."

* * *

She had wound up staying with him that night and so could confirm that later, when he said he hadn't slept at all, he hadn't been lying. Her heart constricted with sympathy and some unacknowledged gratitude that once he had heard her voice he had all but dragged her out of that foul smelling room. Enough gratitude not to begrudge him the headlines once Luthor was taken into custody. 

So it was done then, Luthor's image forever tarnished from the discovery of Margaret's body in his storage room.

Luthor still insisted on his innocence, but at this point no one cared. The facts were many and were disturbing enough.

Weeks later however, the penthouse had been turned inside out, locked rooms all meticulously searched and the bodies of Stacy and Amy had yet to turn up. Something about it made Lois uncomfortable, but she couldn't exactly pinpoint why.

Then the autopsy reports came in, Clark had looked at Lois as they sat in front of the desk.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked her.

"Are you sure?" Lois shot back full of bravado.

He opened the manila folder and removed the contents. One picture fell out and they had both reached for it at the same time. Clark let it go. Once Lois had glanced at it, she pulled her hand away, jerked to a standing position and calmly excused herself. Then in the privacy of the women's bathroom she proceeded to empty her lunch.

Five minutes and a breathmint later, she sat next to Clark, hands folded primly on her lap. His eyes flickered over her face and she faked a smile, grotesque in its utter artificiality.

"You don't have to do this," he said quietly. "This isn't about a bet or proving your nerves of steel to a rookie."

"No, it's about a brutalized woman," Lois said. "And two others who might have suffered the same fate."

He looked at her for a moment before opening the report again.

An hour later, Lois sat back. "Luthor didn't do it."

Clark looked up at her in shock.

"The body had no legs, and no head. Those were never found in the room. Or anywhere else."

"What about that locked room Teresa had mentioned," Clark gestured to Lois' statement.

"Nothing there either. It was a study."

"Then what?"

"I don't know."

"Everything points to Luthor, Lois."

"Maybe he's being framed."

"For five years?"

Lois shrugged. "Odder things have happened. Regardless, he might be released--this isn't sufficient enough to convict him."

"They won't need any more; all Metropolis thinks he did it."

Lois picked up her purse.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to see if I can talk to him."

"I'm coming with you."

Lois whirled. "No, you're not."

"Is it the rookie thing again, because I'm getting sick and—"

"Clark has it ever occurred to you that because you broke into his penthouse, found the body and wrote an headlining article on his being a savage murderer you might perhaps be, I don't know, maybe not who he'd want to see right now?"

"You broke in too," he retorted weakly.

"Yes, but it wasn't my name on the byline. I'll see you later. We can have dinner," she said over her shoulder as she walked out.

* * *

"Ms. Lane," Luthor said smoothly. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" 

"To my curiosity," she said over the jail phone.

"Curiosity can be dangerous," he replied.

Lois cracked a smile. "Keep talking like that and they'll easily sentence you to life in prison."

"What do you want," Luthor said brusquely. "Or did you just want to mock me?"

"I actually have something to confess Luthor," she lowered her voice dramatically, her eyes never drifting from his face. "I don't think you did it."

He arched an eyebrow.

"You might know who did though."

"If I had," he replied, "that person would be here instead of me."

"Was everyone happy about you and Margaret's marriage?"

"I believe you can find that out from the many police reports."

"Just answer the question."

"Many people were not happy, business associates and the like. People who don't like me to divide my time."

"What about on Margaret's side. I heard Teresa for instance had a big blow out with her sister about the marriage."

Luthor fell silent for a few seconds.

"Surely you can't be implying that Teresa murdered her sister."

"Why would that be impossible?"

"Because Margaret was all Teresa had. She worshipped her sister. She took care of her after her parents' death."

"And would you know Teresa more than Margaret? I ask because she mentioned your wanting to, perhaps, pursue a romantic relationship…"

Luthor looked away.

"I met Teresa five years ago; she worked on my penthouse's interior design. I was attracted to her immediately and yes, I did want to see her romantically."

"But?"

"Teresa always used Margaret as an excuse. Margaret needed her; she wouldn't leave her, that sort of thing. So we remained friends."

"Then how did your relationship with Margaret come about?"

"Margaret had just gotten her MBA, she and some acquaintances wanted to start a company and needed investors. I offered my assistance."

"And Teresa?"

"She didn't approve, she was adamant Margaret work with her. Margaret abandoned the project."

"Could it have been out of jealousy?"

"That wouldn't explain why Teresa herself turned me down. I approached her several times, Ms. Lane."

"Why go for Margaret if Teresa was who you really wanted to be with?"

"We can't always get what we want. I cared for Margaret--that was enough."

Lois sat back and sighed.

The guard's cry of "Time's up," jarred her from her thoughts.

"Be careful, Ms. Lane," Luthor's voice drawled in her ear through the receiver. He gave her one of his charismatic smiles before standing up.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

II.

Lois' phone rang just as she exited the jail. She looked at her watch as she put the phone to her ear and saw it was four o'clock.

"Hello?"

"Did you get anything out of him?" Clark asked from the other line.

"Nothing concrete."

"He did it, Lois, just let it go."

"No, something's off. I can feel it. There's something strange about Teresa."

"Lois, nothing Teresa has done is strange. Maybe Luthor paid someone. It's only a matter of time before it comes to light. You'll drive yourself crazy thinking about this."

"No, that's too easy—"

"Fine, then you'll drive me crazy thinking about this," he snapped. "I've been looking at those files all day, looking at those—those photos all day. I don't want to think about this any more, could we just let it go?"

Lois stayed silent.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment.

She heard him sigh.

"You mentioned dinner?"

"I did."

"What did you have in mind?" He asked tiredly.

"Something simple. I have to do something, but I should be done around six or so."

Clark mentioned a restaurant close to his apartment.

"Fine. I'll see you there at six."

* * *

A while later, Lois was outside the Clare's mansion. It was quite far from the city, a fact obvious from its rather secluded location and the amount of vegetation surrounding it. She rang the bell, not really sure herself what she was doing there.

Her gut instincts had never let her down before.

The sky was overcast and she pulled her coat tighter around herself. Stupid, she didn't know if Teresa would be home and she hadn't brought her umbrella, if it started raining…

There was a flash of pale lightning followed closely by thunder and Lois groaned.

Just her luck.

She pressed the bell again and looked at her watch. Five-twenty. Teresa was probably still at her office, why on earth had she decided to come here?

Then she heard footsteps and the door swung open.

Teresa looked at her quizzically.

"Ms. Lane, I wasn't expecting you," she looked up at the sky. "You better come in. It looks like it'll start raining at any minute. Let me take your coat."

Lois followed her in to the living room and gave her the coat. Teresa opened the closet beside the door and hung it with the others.

"I'm sorry I took so long, I have a studio in the back of the house where I work at sometimes and it's difficult to hear the bell there. What brings you here?"

"I'm surprised I found you here, I was thinking maybe it would have been better to go to your office," Lois told her, purposely avoiding the question.

"I work only until noon on Fridays," Teresa said conversationally. "What can I do for you, Ms. Lane?"

Lois found herself stupidly groping for a reason, when the phone rang. Teresa excused herself.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why was she here? Somehow blurting out, "I'm here to hear you tell me that you killed your sister and the two other women Luthor dated seriously," didn't seem at all appropriate.

Think, Lois, think.

Teresa came back into the room with an apologetic expression.

"I'm afraid I might have to take this call in my room," she gestured upstairs. "It might take a while. It's a client."

"Oh, I can wait however long it takes," Lois said lightly.

Teresa looked at her oddly and she added, "I mean I'm already forty minutes from the city. I wouldn't want to waste the trip."

Teresa nodded in understanding. "Would you like a drink while you wait?"

"No that's all right. I have some…reading material," Lois gestured to her purse, praying Teresa wouldn't ask what.

"All right then," the taller woman said and gave her a small smile before exciting the room.

It had started raining, she could see it through the sliding doors that led to the backyard, but looking past that she could see a small shack maybe fifteen feet from the house. Teresa had mentioned a studio…Lois wondered if the sliding doors were locked.

She briefly looked around before darting to the opposite side of the room and trying the sliding doors.

They opened and she walked out to the backyard ignoring the cold autumn rain.

Lois ran to the shack and took a deep breath. God only knew what was inside. Her stomach curled up into a tight knot and she jerked the unlocked doors open and gasped.

Canvases. Paint.

A real studio.

Lois tentatively wandered in, feeling a mix of both relief and disappointment. She looked around.

Was this it?

Without thinking about it she ran out of the studio and back into the house. She took off her soaked jacket and went to the coat closet. She hung it up, pushing the other hangers aside. The coat in front of her jacket made a jingling sound when she moved it and Lois looked through its pocket curiously.

Keys. Nothing strange about that.

She accidentally dropped them and leaned down to pick them up. As she stood up a certain unevenness in the wall caught her attention and her hands darted out to traces the edges of

A…door.

A door. In the wall of the coat closet.

Lois didn't even attempt to suppress the chill that ran down her spine as her fingers traced the edges and came to a keyhole.

She had keys and now a keyhole, how many keys were there? She looked down at her hands which had started shaking. Three.

It seemed to take an eternity with her trembling fingers, but she tried one. It wouldn't go in. Taking a deep breath she tried the next, it went in. Lois turned it and heard the snap as the lock gave way and the door popped slightly open.

Lois took the key out wrapping her hands around it.

She opened the door wider and the smell made her turn her face and close her eyes. It was like the smell at Luthor's room.

Except stronger.

She didn't have to go in. She didn't. She wouldn't.

Although it was dark through the door, she could make ou three steps directly in front of her through the door. Her hands were shaking so hard the keys fell, the sharp sound making her jump. Spying a hanging bulb overhead, she reached to pull on its cord. The bright light illuminated the steps, but Lois didn't have time to look carefully.

There were footsteps coming down the stairs

She darted out to grab the keys on the last step, not registering their slickness. Once she had done so, she moved back and closed the door, pulling the coats back to hide it from view.

"Ms. Lane?" Teresa called from the other side of the room.

"I was just putting my jacket away," Lois said tightly, whirling from the coat closet.

"You're wet," Teresa looked at her oddly.

"Your garden," Lois lied. "It's so beautiful I had to have a closer look."

"What's that in your hand?"

Lois looked down and her eyes widened in terror.

In her fear of being discovered she hadn't noticed that the keys had gotten wet when they fell. She dropped them in horrified revulsion and stared at her bloodstained hands, her breaths coming in faster and faster.

Teresa shook her head.

"Ms. Lane," she said tersely, "I think you might have violated my privacy."

* * *

Clark looked at his watch. Six-forty. Lois was officially forty minutes late and had yet to call. That wasn't like her. 

He sighed. He should have known she would keep pursuing this.

Clark looked at the file on Teresa he had brought against his better judgment. There was nothing about her that seemed at all suspicious. Teresa had nothing to gain from her sister's death, on the contrary, Margaret being her only family member she had everything to lose.

That didn't mean that Mad Dog Lane wasn't over at the Clare household right at this very minute questioning poor Teresa to death.

He scanned his surroundings for an alley.

* * *

Lois took a step back, unable to speak. 

"What's the matter, Ms. Lane? Didn't like what you saw?"

"I-I-I-I-" Lois couldn't form the sentence.

"What? I can't understand you."

"I-I-I didn't see—I didn't see—anything," Lois pushed the words out by sheer force of will backing up against the front door.

"I think you're lying."

Lois shook her head mutely.

"I beg to differ. And that is very bad news for you." Teresa moved suddenly seizing Lois' hair and pulling her forward

Lois dug her nails into the taller woman's skin, and struggled wildly.

Teresa gave a gasp of pain and relaxed her hold. Lois took the opportunity to dart past her to the opposite side of the room. When she turned, she could no longer see the red head and only felt the jackhammer of her heart.

Teresa emerged from the doorway with a carving knife in her hands.

Lois looked around for anything resembling a weapon and felt at a loss.

She attempted vainly to calm her breathing.

Teresa came to stand directly in front of her and slashed down, Lois moved away, feeling the burn as the blade grazed the side of her shoulder.

"Don't do this!" Lois screamed as she ran.

"Give me one good reason," she felt Teresa close behind her.

"My partne--" she broke off with a cry as she felt the knife slash across her back.

The pain, made her lose her focus and she fell, Teresa tripped over her, falling as well. Lois attempted to stand, but Teresa grabbed her by her left foot and Lois fell heavily once more. Both women struggled, but Lois' wounds put her at a disadvantage. Knowing this instinctively, she grabbed the leg of a nearby end table and pulled it towards them.

It wobbled and fell landing heavily on Teresa. The lamp on top of it crashed against the floor a couple of feet away.

Lois moved from underneath, Teresa, and towards the front door. Her assailant reached for the half broken lamp and ran behind her.

Lois' trembling hands could not open the front door fast enough and in concentrating in her efforts she didn't see Teresa behind her. She also barely felt as she brought down the half broken lamp was over her head.

Lois collapsed and lay motionlessly.

Teresa sighed tiredly, she went to the living room and grabbed the now-sticky keys from where Lois had dropped them. Then she opened the coat closet door and moved the coats aside to open the door behind them. Teresa pulled on the cord to turn on the light and went down the stairs. She came back up several minutes later with a shovel.

Holding the shovel with one hand, she took Lois' left foot with her other and proceeded to slowly drag her out, leaving thick crimson streaks behind her on the living room floor tile.

* * *

Clark rang the doorbell and looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock now. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. This was about respect--or lack thereof. Lois didn't respect his hunches, didn't respect his stories, she didn't respect him. And that was why, even when he agreed with her, she insisted on something else. 

Teresa Clare answered on the second ring of the bell, opening the door just a bit.

"Mr. Kent," she said in a surprised tone. "What brings you here on a night like this?"

For the first time Clark registered it was raining, the evening was lit by the smallest scythe-shaped sliver of the moon. It reminded him that he was pretty far from the city and successively, of how far Lois would go to prove him wrong.

He tightened his jaw. "Is Lois Lane here?"

"No, actually. Why do you ask?"

The news took him by surprise, "She's not here?"

Teresa shook her head. "No."

Then it struck him, how Teresa had placed herself in a position that blocked his view inside the house. He turned his head and looked in. Once he saw the room in heightened state of disarray his heart sank.

"Do you think," he ventured cautiously, "that I could come in for a second?"

"Oh, Mr. Kent, I'd actually prefer you didn't. I'm in the process of remodeling. It's a mess."

"I don't mind. I would just like to—to use your phone. You see, I forgot mine."

Teresa looked at him suspiciously, but stepped away from the door and let him in.

"The phone is this way," she led him to the kitchen. "Would you like something to drink?"

He shook his head and took the receiver, pretending to dial. He looked through the trash can beside him out of a strange curiosity.

Paper towels, stained a deep red.

His eyes widened and he hung up the phone so hard it broke and clattered to the floor.

"Where is Lois?" he gasped out.

Teresa turned to face him in surprise. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then what is this!" He jerked the trashcan open revealing the stained paper towels.

"If you haven't noticed, Mr. Kent," Teresa said coldly, "this is a kitchen. I cook."

"No, I don't believe it and I don't believe that bit about remodeling. Where is she?" he yelled.

Teresa crossed her arms over her chest.

"Do you want to search? Be my guest."

Clark didn't give her a thought as he ran upstairs frenziedly looking through her room, the other rooms and the various closets, he came back down stairs his face ashen with worry.

"You did something to her," he said heavily.

Teresa hadn't moved from her spot. "You'll hear from my lawyers, Mr. Kent."

He didn't pay attention to her, going back to the living room and pausing in front of the sliding doors for a half a second before opening them, mildly surprised they weren't locked.

He walked out, but not before seeing Teresa emerge from the kitchen through her reflection in the glass.

It was still raining, but he paid it no attention.

He could spy a small shack in the dim moonlight and his heart was immediately at his throat.

Clark heard Teresa's footsteps on the moist earth behind him, the sounds easily lost in the soft patter of the evening rain. He came to the shack and pulled its doors open. Behind him Teresa turned on the light.

An art studio, complete with blank canvases and paint and rags for clean up.

He used his x-ray vision to scan for anything hidden, but everything seemed to be as it seemed.

Except…

One of the rags was from a familiar fabric.

"Mr. Kent, are you done?"

He ignored her and went to it, picking it up, noticing it was wet. He twisted it and droplets of water dripped down onto the wooden floor. Clark spread it out. A woman's blouse.

Lois' blouse.

Clark closed his eyes, the dread forming a whirlpool at his feet.

"This is her shirt," he said in a choked voice, turning to face her.

"I thin—"

"THIS IS HER SHIRT!"

She shuddered at his scream. Fear came to radiate from her eyes.

"I-I-I-I—"

"Where is she?" Clark whispered, taking a step towards her.

Teresa turned to run out to the backyard, but Clark was there before she could take a step with a steely grip on her arm.

"Show me," he said quietly and Teresa whimpered. He walked out, half dragging her with him.

The rain clouds had briefly obscured the small sliver of moon. The lights from the house were the only illumination in the yard.

"Behind the studio," Teresa whispered.

In five steps they were there and Clark could see nothing, except a shovel in the middle of a clearing. Distraught, he let go of her arm and crouched by the soft ground near the shovel.

No, it was too horrible, no.

But he needed the certainty, every fiber of his being called for it and he dove a hand shallowly into the loose earth.

His fingers felt a different texture from that of the soft dirt.

Skin.

Cold skin.

Too cold.

He pulled away as if burned, losing his balance and landing heavily in a sprawled position. He shifted to kneel and buried his face in his hands. The agony rendered him mute and dumb. There were no thoughts, just an empty visceral horror.

"I wouldn't have done it if she hadn't been so nosy."

And beneath him, the ground shook.

Instinctively, he crawled away.

Dirt was launched up in the air. Clark clumsily crawled back another step.

The rain clouds moved away and the moon's crescent shone its delicate light down…

…illuminating pale fingers curling out from among the black of the earth, followed by pale hands and slender naked arms, unmistakably familiar to Clark as they emerged from the moist ground.

The ground shook once more and Lois sat up, the white of her skin a stark contrast against the dark earth around her. She looked down at her hands, slowly opening and closing them as if for the first time.

From behind Clark, Teresa let out a blood-curling scream.

Lois looked up suddenly and Clark shuddered.

Her face was incredibly pale, her lips looking faintly blue in the moonlight. Rivulets of rain drops ran down from her temple. There was a long gash there where the water mixed with the coagulated blood and dripped down her neck.

Lois stood up jerkily and Clark noticed another cut below her collar bone, the wound black against the spectral white of her skin.

She walked slowly on shaky legs past Clark and he turned, following her with wide eyes.

Teresa just screamed, rooted to one spot by sheer terror. "No! I wouldn't have if you weren't so nosy!"

"Teresa, Teresa," she called and his skin crawled at the sound.

Lois' lips were moving…but that was not her voice.

She came to stand in front of Teresa.

"You didn't have to do that."

"No! I—I gave everything to take care of you, you owed me. You owed me. You owed me," Teresa started rocking back and forth.

Lois crouched down and smiled eerily as she reached towards Teresa's face with dirt-stained fingers.

"I would never leave you."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**

* * *

**

**Epilogue**

* * *

"I brought you some doughnuts. Chocolate frosting," Clark offered Lois the bag.

"Oh good, I was starving," she said taking it eagerly.

Clark looked at her pointedly.

"I said 'starving' not 'dying'," she protested, shoving one into her mouth.

"All the same, I'd like us to stay away from saying things like that for a while. How's the forehead?"

Lois hand instinctively went to the bandage. "It's fine, three stitches, and before you ask none for the collarbone. How did things end up with Teresa?"

Clark sighed. "She's under observation at Lance End. They found evidence of her having moved Margaret's body to Luthor's. They also found the room and it turns out, she had both Amy and Stacey's bones in there, and some other…stuff."

"Do I want to know?" Lois asked over a mouthful of doughnut.

"No. You don't," he said, which Lois knew was code for "I don't want to tell." Which was fine, all things considered. "What'd they piece together?"

"Teresa had always wanted to be with Luthor, she was upset that other women got the opportunity she felt she couldn't have."

"Because of Margaret."

He nodded. "So eliminating them was more of routine. Margaret though, was pure rage on her part. She felt her sister betrayed her and dismissed all she had done for her and she had her own vendetta against Luthor—who by the way wants you to name your reward. Anyway, are you sure you're okay with not being on the byline for this one?"

"Sure," she said. "You did most of the work. And tell Luthor he can keep his money."

He looked at her, then went to look out the window. Lois continued, "I'm so glad you brought these, I swear the food here is garbage. Do they purposely feed crap to patients? I mean you're already sick you don't ne—"

"That was a risky stunt you pulled going to see Teresa like that."

"You didn't believe me," Lois said absentmindedly. "So I had to check it out on my own."

"You didn't even give me a chance."

"I told you I had my suspicions and you completely disregarded them," Lois said defensively.

"I just felt that you were trying to dismiss anything I agreed with."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" He turned to look at her. She shifted and patted the side of the bed beside her.

He sighed and went to sit on the bed. "I don't think I'm ever going to sleep again," he said after a moment.

"Margaret? The room?"

He shook his head.

"You. What happened anyway?"

Lois looked away. "You tell me."

"You really don't remember?"

Lois shook her head.

"To be completely honest," Clark said after a few seconds. "I don't remember much either. Just…being scared."

It was Lois' turn to sigh. "I guess that makes it the second time I scare you half to death."

Clark looked at her with an expression that was decidedly not amused.

"Sorry, sorry," she reached looked up at him with a soft smile. "But it's all over now. So what are you so afraid of?" He didn't reply and for a moment she thought he'd stand up and leave, but instead the opposite happened as she found herself in a tight embrace. She blinked in surprise.

"Out of curiosity," Lois said after a while, her voice muffled over his shoulder, "what were the stakes of that bet we made? Anything you wanted?"

Clark pulled away and smiled. It had been a while since she'd seen him smile and it somehow made her feel oddly warm. The feeling brought an immediate surge of discomfort.

He shook his head

"What?"

"I just wanted you to notice me." He hurried to add, "As a reporter-- a good reporter."

"Oh."

"What?"

"Nothing, just--," she shrugged, contemplative for a moment, "That's kind of boring."

"Well, I think we've both had all the excitement we can stand," he said lightly as if intending to continue, but paused when he noticed Lois' frown. "What is it?" He murmured.

"I don't know if you're cut out for this Clark," she said softly, turning away from him. "I don't mean being a reporter, because I think you're good, you know," she spoke quickly. "I mean, being my partner."

"What?" She could hear the surprise in his voice.

"Well, you were," she paused for a second, "--and are-- very affected, by things like this--and well, these things, happen. Those are the risks that good reporters face, you know? Putting everything in line for a good story. I don't know if you're ready for that. You seem...easily spooked."

"Easily spooked?" He asked irritated and she felt strangely hollow and dissatisfied, even as she had accomplished her goal. "Right," Clark continued sarcastically. "Because the sight of you emerging from the ground pale, naked and bleeding wouldn't call up any associations with the undead. Not to mention the theatrics."

"Look," Lois said sharply, crimson flooding her cheeks, despite her own earlier claim of ignorance. "I'm just trying to protect you."

"Protect me? I wasn't the one attacked by a lunatic."

"But you could have been!"

"Lois, I wasn't the one jumping into danger head first!"

"What do you call breaking into Luthor's?"

Clark opened his mouth then closed it, glaring at her.

"That," he said pointedly after a moment. "Was different."

"How so? Because you're a big, strong man? Like Superman?" She looked away and sighed, rubbing the bandage on her head absentmindedly. That was enough, a voice inside her admonished, just lay back, be quiet and that's it.

But somehow she couldn't end it like that. "This isn't about bravado," she added softly. "This is about how much you can take. For every twenty stories we do, there might be one like this. Decapitation, mutilations, rapes-- if you're going to fall to pieces when we go for those stories like that, then this is not the place for you."

Suddenly, his eyes widened. "This isn't about me," he said in an odd tone which put Lois immediately on guard. "This is about you."

Lois looked away, clamping down on the strange unease. "That doesn't make any sense," she said forcing a laugh.

"You're worried about me."

"I don't want a partner that will slow me down because he can't hack it!" She snapped.

"You're worried about me and that makes you nervous. You're scared you'll slow yourself down by worrying about me."

"Please."

Clark she could hear the smile in his voice. "If you don't want to admit to it that's fine," he said magnanimously. "I find your concern touching. It's nice."

"It's-it's not true!" She sputtered. "Just leave. I'm tired."

He didn't. She felt his weight on the mattress, mere inches from her. "I'll be fine, Lois," he said solemnly after a few seconds. "As long as," he paused as if searching for the right words. "As long as you take care of yourself, I'll be fine."

Lois felt unbalanced, groping for anything, finally asking defensively, "What is that supposed to mean?" She didn't even wait for his reply, adding, "I can go to Perry at any minute and let him know this isn't working out. He'll dissolve this partnership in an instant."

"Because I worry about my partner? I thought that was a good sign," Clark replied neutrally.

She gathered enough presence of mind to face him. "You're in no position to ask me for anything," she said.

"Not even for you to be safe?"

Lois steeled herself. "Nothing," she said flatly. "And if you can't deal with that then just say so."

Clark stood up, and she felt that strange hollowness once more. That was that, she thought.

"Fine, then," Clark said lightly.

"What?" She looked up at him quizzically.

"I won't ask anything of you. But I'm not running away from being your partner," he said. "If _you _can't handle it, then go to Perry, by all means."

Although she tried, she couldn't temper the wide smile. "Oh, please," Lois said with her usual flair. "I can handle anything."

END


End file.
